


Maybe I could be yours

by Sparkleymask



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drinking, M/M, The Winter Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkleymask/pseuds/Sparkleymask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic for the prompt: "Maybe I could be yours".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I could be yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and not terribly well edited.

Dorian slipped out of the ballroom before the Empress had finished her speech. He spared a glance for the Inquisitor, but her attention was on Celene. He had done his bit for the evening, and was satisfied that she no longer required his presence. Indeed, the thinly veiled hostility he had received from the other guests throughout the evening suggested that, now the excitement was over, he might best serve the Inquisition by staying out of the way.

He made sure to lift a glass of wine from an obliging servant on his way out.

The air in the garden was pleasantly cool on his face, though there was no breeze. His outfit was beginning to feel uncomfortable and restrictive, the sweat of battle drying under layers of stiff formal attire. He sighed deeply, breathing in the faint scent of night flowers.

The latch on the door to his left gave a quiet click, and he turned to see Bull enter the garden. 

“Following me?”

Bull shrugged, always an impressive gesture given the sheer size of his shoulders, somehow emphasised now by the clothing covering them. “Not like you to be so far from where they’re serving the drink. Got concerned.”

Dorian smiled wryly and held up his nearly empty glass.

In response Bull raised his eyebrow, along with a bottle of wine he had been holding behind his back. Dorian gave a reluctant chuckle and tipped his glass for Bull to fill. Bull obliged, then took his own mouthful straight from the bottle. 

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Impeccable manners as always.”

Bull grinned, but otherwise ignored the comment. “What are you doing out here? I thought this was your kind of thing.”

“It can’t have escaped your excellent powers of observation that I am not the most welcome of guests at this party.” 

Bull hummed thoughtfully, a low rumble, and Dorian was briefly gripped by the desire to press his palm to Bull’s chest for the vibration of it. “What about you? Now you’ve satisfied yourself as to my wellbeing?”

“Not sure how welcome I am, either,” Bull said, matter-of-fact. “Also, they ran out of food.” 

“I expect they had not planned for someone of your voracious appetites.”

A slow, delighted grin spread across Bull’s face.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Don’t.”

“If you wanted to talk about my appetites…”

“ _Please_.”

“You could have just said.” He stepped closer, crowding into Dorian’s space, but the fingers he touched to Dorian’s hip were gentle.

Dorian didn’t back away. It was the wine, he told himself. He could feel Bull’s warmth through layers of clothing, barely any space between them. He brushed the knuckles of his free hand absently against Bull’s waist.

They had fucked on exactly four separate occasions. The first time three weeks ago, and the last time five days ago, the evening before they left Skyhold. It was alarming to find how much those five days of enforced celibacy had affected him. 

“Everyone in there,” Bull murmured, his breath stirring Dorian’s hair, “they don’t know what they’re missing.” 

Dorian’s breath hitched. He cleared his throat. “Obviously.” Bull’s hand curved round to rest at the small of his back. “Alas, my scintillating conversation and excellent dancing skills must go to waste.”

Bull, who had lowered his head to nose gently at Dorian’s hair, pulled back to look at him. “You want to dance?”

“What?” For a brief instant Dorian’s traitorous mind considered it, and robbed his answer of any sharpness. “No.”

One corner of Bull’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “You want me to jerk you off behind that pillar?”

A flash of unexpected arousal threatened to unbalance him. “Absolutely not!” 

“Alright,” Bull chuckled, stepping back so he could lean down to place the bottle on the ground. As he straightened he said in the same conversational tone, “Can I kiss you?”

Dorian glared at him. “Are you trying to cause a scandal?”

“No,” said Bull, as infuriatingly good-natured as he had always been in the face of Dorian’s scorn. “Just trying my luck. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned down for the bottle again. 

Impulsively, Dorian grabbed his arm. “I didn’t say no.”

Bull did not waste time commenting on his change of mind. He simply wrapped his arm around Dorian’s waist, dragging him close, and dipped his head to kiss him. 

Alcohol had had made Dorian’s limbs loose and his skin sensitive, and it would be so easy to lose himself in it; Bull’s hand on his back, slowly sliding lower, the graze of his teeth against Dorian’s lip, his soft breaths, the taste of wine on his tongue.

Dorian grasped Bull’s jacket with both hands, using the leverage to pull Bull closer, trying to keep their bodies flush, forcing Bull to take more of his weight to accommodate their difference in height.

It meant Dorian could feel Bull half-hard against him, and his own arousal grew hot in the pit of his stomach.

He dropped his head to catch his breath, and leaned away when Bull tried to recapture his mouth. Bull accepted it, straightening, though one hand still rested heavy and tempting at the base of Dorian’s spine, the other splayed across his shoulder blades. 

Dorian smiled softly and smoothed his palms across the expanse of Bull’s chest. How ironic all his griping about Bull’s permanent state of undress now seemed, as he found himself cursing the thick fabric of the uniform hiding Bull’s skin.

Bull sighed, and there was a slight shake to it. He stroked his thumb against Dorian’s nape, pushing the high collar down. “Sure you don’t want to go behind that pillar?”

Dorian’s laugh came out in a breathless rush. “Best not.” He tilted his head up to catch Bull’s eye. “Perhaps, though,” he murmured, “I will come to your room later.”

Bull hummed, low and pleased. His thumb continued to dip below Dorian’s collar, teasing the sensitive skin at his hairline. “Not worried about anyone seeing you?”

“Hmm.” Dorian’s eyes slid closed, distracted by the Bull’s touch. “I’m sure they will all be too busy with their own dirty little secrets by then.” 

The slow stroking at his neck stopped abruptly, and he opened his eyes to see what was wrong. His first thought was that someone else had entered the garden, until he saw Bull’s face.

Bull had leaned back, his hands not leaving Dorian entirely, but his hold loosened. “Is that what I am?” 

Dorian’s stomach flipped, and he had the growing sense that he had done something wrong, without quite knowing what.

“Your dirty little secret?” His voice was steady, carefully neutral, but quiet in a way that betrayed the emotion he was clearly trying to hide.

Dorian tried to smile, but he knew it was uneven. He ran his palm down Bull’s chest, placating. “Not so _little_ …” 

Bull stepped back from his touch, frowning. “You’re embarrassed by me.”

Released from the support of Bull’s arms, Dorian felt himself sway slightly on his feet. “No,” he said, and wished he sounded more sure of his own words. “That’s not…that isn’t what I meant.”

“Are you sure?”

Dorian grasped for an answer that wouldn’t come. A flare of irritation, at Bull, at himself, pushed him on the defensive. “If anyone is to be the dirty secret,” he snapped, “I thought I would be yours. I doubt you want people to know you’re fucking the spoiled _Vint_.” 

Bull didn’t reply immediately, and Dorian’s words sat heavy and bitter in the stretching silence.

Eventually Bull broke it. “I’m not ashamed of you, Dorian.” There was an edge of bemusement in his tone, as if it had never even crossed his mind. 

Dorian felt winded, robbed of the breath to respond. 

They stared at each other, an arm’s length apart. 

Behind Bull the door opened and a masked couple spilled through it, giggling with the too-loud abandon of the very drunk.

Dorian just caught the unhappy noise Bull made, low in his throat, as he looked away. 

The couple noticed them and the man held up his hands, his companion still clinging to his arm. “Apologies,” he said, accent thick and slurring, “We did not mean to disturb.”

Dorian shook his head, but their attention had already left him before he could speak. 

“I should go back inside,” said Bull. He didn’t look at Dorian when he spoke.

He seemed to hesitate, though, and Dorian wondered if he was waiting for him to speak – to ask him to stay. The moment passed, and Bull left without another word. 

A delighted squeal, followed by muffled laughter, caused Dorian to turn. The couple had reached the far end of the garden – he could see their shadows moving behind the pillar.

The bottle of wine was still on the ground. Dorian picked it up, and drank.


End file.
